


Temptation

by honestys_easy



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tulsa Gangstas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-11
Updated: 2009-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestys_easy/pseuds/honestys_easy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What you see on the stage isn't the half of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> While I can't vouch for most of the events that happen in this story, hehe, the things mentioned that happen on stage [really did occur](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMPma0dPkOI) in [Kansas City, MO](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jy38yHDKWc), and were the inspiration for this fic.

It starts when Andy breezily murmurs to Neal before a show that he's not wearing any underwear.

The details of that night - where they had been, what David had been babbling on about that particular night - were lost to memory and the digital cameras of the fans, but Neal remembers what counts; the chords that remain in his fingers and his ears, the unmistakable smell of a crowded venue and excitement in the air the exact curve and threads of Andy's jeans as Neal didn't take his eyes off them all night. Andy had always joked that he knew exactly how to stir thoughts in Neal's head, and stir Neal's emotions in other places of his anatomy. Apparently he chose that night to exercise this power over the older man.

Andy's breath comes up against the shell of Neal's ear before the lights and Neal can feel the well-hidden smile in those words, the promise of mischief and the daring challenge for Neal to find out if he's lying. His hips look the same as they always do, his lithe figure fitting comfortably in the tight jeans that were unofficially the tour uniform of the band - and Neal should know, apart from the man himself he'd consider himself to be the expert on Andy Skib's hips. But the glaring lights and the concentration on performing a passable set with such distracting thoughts in his head causes Neal to second guess his instincts, feeling the heat rise in his body, completely unrelated from the hot lights upon him.

And when their eyes meet across the stage, as they often do, there's a life in Andy's eyes that intrigues Neal in a way it never has before: he's toying with him, daring him to take the dark-haired man on for size. Andy should have known, really, Neal thinks as he responds with his own stare, a focused, almost predatory look countering Andy's subtle mischief: Neal Tiemann is not a man who easily overlooks challenges. 

The first time he crosses the stage - when all eyes are on David, as they should be, and Neal is left to his own devices so far as his amp wires can take him - he believes he is ready, but Andy proves him wrong. He's taken the daring steps towards the other side of the stage before, in a seductive game of chicken unknown to everyone in the venue besides Neal and Andy: a head on one's shoulder, a lean of his arm against the younger man's well-known flesh, on the guise of getting caught up in their own music. They both wait for the other to break, to give in to the impulses of skin upon skin and music flowing through their veins but they never do, their professionalism and the desire through their entire lives to be taken as serious musicians too strong to give it up for one moment of release. 

But Andy takes it one step further. When Neal approaches, shoulder to shoulder as they pose for the crowd, Andy leans in closer than he ever has before, the press of the sweat-slicked skin of his arm against Neal's. His head is almost resting on Neal's shoulder, a canopy of dark, damp hair covering his eyes but not his intent; his hair sticks to the nape of Neal's neck, to his cheek, and Neal shudders. The only other times he's felt the same sensation, of Andy's body so close and brimming with energy, is when they fuck, fast and clumsy, rushed and hard. The only other times Andy's sweat-dampened hair clings to Neal's face is when he's screaming in orgasm.

"Oh, fuck," Neal finds his mouth forming the words he knows Andy hears - hell, he could probably feel their vibrations down his spine. The younger man says nothing in response, but Neal takes all the meaning from his silence: it's exactly what Andy plans to do once this concert ends.

Neal thought he could handle touching Andy on stage, perhaps to get a better look at how snug his jeans may fit that night and if the fabric leaves room for boxers underneath, but he's sorely mistaken and left with a desire in his gut burning deeper than before. He returns to his side of the stage like a chided puppy, with one last glimpse of the satisfied smirk on Andy's face, confident that his teasing garnered the most effective response. Point, Skib. 

But the next time Andy must know he would not be so lucky, nor would Neal be caught off-guard. The energy of the crowd and a thrill from a flawless solo enliven Neal's senses, and he dares to try again, crossing the stage behind David but this time with confidence, with a plan. When his eyes lock with Andy's - large and dark, simmering with as much desire as Neal's, veiled by a thick curtain of hair but Neal can see those eyes shine anywhere - he makes sure Andy knows his intentions before sinking to his knees on the stage. 

Andy's mouth drops open and his nimble fingers nearly lose their beat - nearly but not quite, Neal knows better than to completely short-circuit his boyfriend's brain on stage - when Neal prostrates himself before him, gaze intense and unflinching. This ups the ante, Neal knows it, as his own mind recalls other times he's been on his knees for Andy. The younger man breaks their locked stare with carefully orchestrated head banging, feigning enthusiasm for the song Neal's fingers remember the notes to but his mind's completely detached itself from. And every time his head bobs up - and oh, Neal's seen that head bob up before, and it wasn't in front of a thousand screaming fans - Andy's eyes lock with Neal's once again, the desire smoldering in his darkened gaze. He's panting, mouth open and lips needing; his neck cranes towards Neal, his back bows towards him, like a tree to nourishing sunlight, like a magnet.

He wants Neal, wants him badly, and as the older man rises to his feet once more he realizes Andy was probably quite close to throwing his professionalism down the toilet and taking Neal up on his flirtation. David would have frowned on his best friends making the concert one big feat of foreplay. Point, Tiemann.

When the last chord is struck and David's flung another night's stock of guitar picks into the audience, Neal can't get off the stage fast enough, his boots making quick, dull thumps against the wood grain of the stage. He could go for a smoke, he could stand to take a breather and let the post-concert adrenaline drain out of his body in whatever dressing room the college outfitted for them, but the growl of lust in his throat and a sudden tightness in his jeans has him itching for a different way to release that energy.

He knows Andy is following him, three paces behind, allowing the older man to lead: to a dark corner of the events center, an empty bathroom perhaps; the narrow and unforgiving bunks of the tour bus are way too far. In truth Andy would follow anywhere Neal would lead; he'd go to the ends of the Earth if Neal continued to fall to his knees.

It's an alcove in a dark part of the building, the lights shut down for the night and a corridor full of locked classroom doors. There's not much cover save for strategic shadows, but at this point Neal will accept any place short of the will-call booth. They'll be left alone here, away from the hustle of nervous student events staff and the endless convoy of equipment back to the truck. Out of everything Neal and Andy wished for, dreamed about making it big with their music - the fame, the sold-out shows, top billing instead of an afterthought - Neal admits at this moment that getting someone else to pack up your shit while you fuck your boyfriend might be the best.

Neal feels Andy's breath on his ear again, hot and needy, and he expects something deliciously dirty to tumble out of his boyfriend's mouth but all he feels is the exhalation and the ragged desperation fueling it. He pushed Andy to the brink during that concert - they both pushed each other, Andy was far from the innocent on that stage - and now Andy wants it bad, needs the touch, the taste of Neal on his tongue to satisfy that hunger. 

Before he can breathe again Andy's grabbed by the shoulders, forceful, strong arms gripping into his shirt's fabric as he's spun around; Neal's turned the tables, and while he likes it when Andy toys with him, loves it in fact, it's evident now that he's calling the shots. Andy feels the cold, hard plane of drywall on his back and his mind senses more than knows that Neal's pinned him against the wall and isn't planning to give him much leeway from now on. Their eyes lock, and the fiery desire within Neal could light the entire events center: his face is eerily still, and Andy knows him well enough to take this as a sign his mind is racing, but focused only on one thing. 

The younger man tries to lean in towards Neal, tries to capture the lips that so eagerly tease him on stage and with them, capture the energy of Neal's desire itself, but Neal holds fast to Andy's shoulders, distancing his face from the other man; a power play. It's payback for setting the whole thing in motion, for keeping Neal on edge the entire concert with his whispered challenge declared only to him. With a groan from the back of his throat - even Andy himself couldn't tell if it was in displeasure over Neal's rejection or a base approval of Neal's control of the situation, control over _him_ \- Andy tilts his head back, eyes wide and trained on Neal's behind dark hair. His breath is coming in pants and he hasn't even  touched Neal yet. 

_If you're gonna do it,_ his eyes said, the deep sensory connection between the two men established years before their bodies ever touched. _Then fucking do it._

Neal's down on his knees in one fluid motion, and Andy would be smug about the limberness of his boyfriend if his mouth weren't so currently occupied with stifling a muffled moan. 

Hands shift and go to work in the dark of the corridor - Neal's slip from Andy's shoulders, fingers lingering with intent upon Andy's sides and stopping where his jeans meet with the skin of his waist, while Andy's reach behind him to grip the wall, though his fingers find only slick plaster. There's the heel of a hand pressed against Andy's groin, a tender yet firm touch as Neal's other hand makes short work of the button clasp of Andy's jeans; he's making sure Andy's paying attention, that his mind's focused on what's happening here, at his knees, and that right now Neal controls all his pleasure. The hand is quickly replaced by Neal's face, desperately mouthing against the impression of a hard cock straining against denim, and Andy can't fathom how Neal ever thought he wouldn't be paying attention to this. 

Andy wants to free himself from these pesky pants, thinks whoever invented them in the first place was a sadist because they're getting in the way of Neal's skin contacting with his; he lifts his hips up, away from the wall, a hand raised to push the offending material farther down his narrow hips. But it's quickly swatted away, with a possessive growl low in Neal's throat and a glare sent in Andy's direction that burns hot with power as much as desire. Despite it actually being Andy's body, this is now Neal's territory, he's claimed it, and with a greedy snatch of the jean's zipper with his teeth, he's ready to mark it. 

There's a gasp from above as Neal holds the zipper in between his teeth, both its metallic shine and the rings in Neal's lip catching light and glinting in Andy's line of vision. He feels his pulse race in his chest - among other places - when the older man brings down the zipper inch by painstaking inch, a groan low in his own throat from his excitement, for finally reaching this enticing prize. Neal is so close he can taste it beyond the metallic burn of the zipper and he shudders in spite of himself. One of his hands drops from its position securing Andy's hips against the wall, trails down along the inseam of the younger man's inner thigh, moving down with the pace of his teeth along the zipper, until it reaches his own leg and finds purchase at his crotch. Giving himself a needy squeeze through the denim, Neal sighs; he can't believe how hard he is, how much he wants Andy, and he hasn't even been touched yet. 

The "yet" tagged onto his train of thought lingers in the air, and as if on cue, Andy whimpers, his body wanting more than just the teasing so badly he's almost trembling. That sounds like a promise, Neal considers, as he yanks down the zipper the rest of the way, finding himself face to face with a hard and familiar cock. 

It takes a beat before he smiles, and looks up at Andy's face. The younger man's sweating and this time it's not from the lights on stage, and his breath is coming heavily, waiting for that release; but behind all of the lust in his darkened eyes is a playful smirk, and if he didn't think it would prematurely alert someone to their whereabouts, he'd laugh. 

"I didn't lie," he says, his voice a rasp and a whisper, and he takes the opportunity to dig his thumbs into the waist of his jeans, sliding them down a few inches, their snug fit and the sheen of sweat forming on Andy's body the only things keeping them from dropping to the floor. There's no barrier between the denim and the tender flesh Neal's become so accustomed to over the years, and indeed, Andy's whispered proposition and challenge had been founded in truth. Neal's first thought is that he should have never doubted those words, for he can't remember one time in the eight years he's known the other man when Andy had ever lied to him; his second thought is to torch every pair of Andy's underwear the moment they get back on the bus. 

Neal doesn't answer, he knows he doesn't have to say a damn thing, and instead goes to work at the task at hand. Andy's fully hard by now, let loose from his jeans against the conditioned air of the corridor; Neal's seen him many times like this, hot, open, waiting for him to do something and _move_ , but this feels different somehow, special. He's not snaking a hand through Andy's tousled hair and whispering dirty things into his ear to make him blush in the way that makes Neal's knees feel weak; Andy's fingers aren't tracing the well-worn paths along Neal's tattoos with feather-light touches. There's no foreplay; they haven't even kissed. Tonight their foreplay was on the stage, laid out for the whole crowd to see and analyze, a raging churn of music and emotion and physical need that went deeper, baser than when they usually made love. 

This, Neal surmises as he makes a broad, hungry lick of his tongue against the underside of Andy's cock, trailing from the base upwards to the head...this is about wanting Andy, all of him, in a way so deep and so raw he could feel it in every bone of his being. 

Andy's moaning now, a low, primal rumble from his gut, a note that's never found itself on paper nor been uttered in concert; it's a tone reserved for Neal's ears alone. It jumps up an octave to a startled, pleasured grunt when Neal takes him into his mouth, enclosing his lips around the head of Andy's cock, his senses filled with the scent and feel of Andy, his very taste. It's an overwhelming sensation for Neal, his mind quickly flooded with all things Andy Skib, and he almost wishes one of these classroom doors were miraculously unlocked so he could bend his boyfriend over a desk and do this properly. As it is, Neal's got his own jeans undone with one hand down the front of them, roughly stroking himself. It's not nearly enough to satisfy that desire bred into him from the concert, but he doesn't want to make this about his own pleasure: he wants it to be about Andy, he wants to watch him come undone from the inside out. He wants to provide a suitable reward for the temptation Andy's run through him tonight. 

It's almost like muscle memory for Neal, taking Andy down inch by inch, flicking his tongue along the shaft and being careful not to catch either of his piercings on flesh: each moment, each sensation of being with Andy brings back memories of their lives together, of music mixed with friendship and then something deeper, more. He thinks of the moments when his eyes lingered across the stage, counting the minutes between the first chord of a set and the time when he'd be able to take this man to bed and truly expel this adrenaline of theirs. It's been years but Neal would never change a thing, not one hair on Andy's head or the way they like to fuck - sometimes slow and sweet like springtime sunshine, sometimes rushed and uncontrollable like this, but always with affection behind it, with love. 

A shudder courses through Andy's body and Neal can feel it all around him, can feel it _in_ him and it makes his own cock throb with the sensation. His hand is slowly jacking himself as he works on Andy, arching and twisting at the head not in the way he usually does, how he got himself off almost mechanically in high school before he met Andy and had need to polish his own knob. No, this is how Andy does it, as if his body already knows his mind's desire: a slow, burning tease at first, then the twist and a temptation for more that Neal falls for every time. He wishes it were Andy's hand instead of his own, the younger man's nimble fingers as adept in giving pleasure as they are in creating music, but for that Neal would have to rise from his knees, and from the noises his boyfriend was making above him, he guesses Andy would prefer it if they stayed where they are. 

It's almost too much to take for Andy, the wet heat of Neal's mouth bearing down upon him, the scintillating feeling of his boyfriend on his knees in front of him, yet holding all the power, refusing to let the younger man move - it's a power play the two men were familiar with, but the dynamic never gets old. Neal's own desire to touch Andy, to fully experience him, causes him to slacken his hold on the younger man's hip, his hand traveling north underneath Andy's shirt to graze the tanned skin there, then suddenly sweeping southward, smacking against his ass. Andy can't help but buck his hips forward, stifling a moan in a vain attempt to remain undetected, as he thrust towards that wonderful heat, towards Neal, his eyelids fluttering closed as he rolls back his head in ecstasy. 

They feed off each other, each man's energy and passion fueling the other; Neal relinquishes his hold on Andy's frame and lets him fuck his mouth, feeling his own body shudder with pleasure as Andy sets the pace. His own steady hand is failing, his hips pressing stuttering thrusts into his palm; he knows he's close, and God, he's wanted release ever since Andy whispered into his ear. But it can't be like this, not before he can give the same pleasure to Andy and know that Neal's caused all of it. He looks up between heavy lashes, taking in the view, the curve of Andy's neck as he rolls his head back, lips biting back a moan Neal's ears are dying to hear. 

_Look at me,_ he silently demands; pleads. He needs to see Andy's wide, darkened eyes as much as he wants Andy to see his; he wants to take a look at the effects of his own handiwork, how far gone Andy can be from Neal's ministrations, just as much as he wants Andy to see what the younger man has made of Neal. _Dammit Andy, just look._

Neal is surely not disappointed. Andy's head drops and his jaw is tense, an experienced tongue darting out to wet his panting lips, covering them in a sheen and tempting Neal to no end. But what captures Neal's attention are Andy's eyes, large and expressive as always, darkened with a lustful fire that is left for Neal to stoke or extinguish. They're focused on Neal's stare, desperate not to look away, and widen as Andy's mind catches up with the intensity and determination in Neal's eyes. 

A gasp gets caught in the younger man's throat; that's all it takes, that look in his boyfriend's eyes and the sight of his cock in his mouth, and Andy's tumbling over the edge, hands balled into fists against the alcove wall, his body shaking from the effort. A low whine emits from clenched teeth; it's loud but he doesn't care, he could care less about _anything_ right at that moment besides the orgasm rippling through his body in waves, shattering common sense like jarring amplifier feedback. But his eyes stay trained on Neal, watching as well as feeling the older man's moan wrap about his cock, the sensations overpowering him, but their stare never wavering. 

When Andy comes it's a rush of adrenaline for Neal in a way he's never experienced with anyone else, a gloating kind of pride that he's the one who's caused all this, that his name is the one on Andy's panting lips, the one to coax and tease and then control the pleasure coursing through Andy's body. He feels Andy's cock jerk in his mouth, and he spills onto Neal's tongue, the familiar taste nearly sending the older man into tremors as well. His brain can no longer properly function, it's barely able to remind him to breathe, as all his senses fill with Andy, stretch to their limits in the best possible way. 

Though his knees ache and his body is shaking in protest from prolonging his own pleasure in lieu of Andy's, Neal waits until the last waves of Andy's orgasm are gone, a needy tongue licking his cock dry until Andy's shuddering and he whimpers, too oversensitive to speak. Every time Neal is with him - in some hotel bed where they can't even remember what state they're in that night, or rushed moments like this when the desire for each other outweighs the opportunity - he still can never imagine how amazing it feels to be with Andy, to drink in his scent and his very essence and still never get enough. 

And still, it is not enough. Neal gets to his feet with a desperate groan in his throat, his cock aching for release still in his hand and his eyes fixed on Andy's. Pressing his body flush against the other man, pushing him once again into the alcove wall, Neal finally kisses him, the first time their lips meet since before the concert, and it's well worth the wait. Andy grunts hungrily when their lips collide, his body drained and weak but his mind as sharp as ever. His tongue snakes out to make contact with Neal's, a hasty, sloppy kiss that poetically sums up their entire night. He tastes himself in the older man's mouth, tastes the both of them, and it's a fusion of the senses Andy won't soon forget. 

He feels every inch of Neal pressed against him, and if his mouth weren't so deliciously occupied he'd smirk; the scales of temptation and power have shifted again. Andy reaches in between the two men, his fingers making contact with Neal's closed fist and what he knows to be inside it; this time it's his turn to swat Neal's hand away. Taking Neal's cock in hand, Andy mimics his strokes with tempting rolls of his hips against Neal, each punctuated with a breathtaking kiss. It's exactly what Neal had been looking for, that touch of Andy's that always left his knees weak and his body sated, and try as he may, he simply couldn't replicate the way Andy Skib could make him feel. 

One, two strokes, at a merciless speed because Andy knows Neal can't hold out for much longer nor does he want him to and Neal makes a choked noise in his throat as he comes into Andy's palm, feeling the tension wrapped like coils in his body since the concert slacken and drain. His limbs grow heavy while the blood returning to his head makes him dizzy; it's a strange feeling to have while on your feet, tucked away in a tiny corner of some college building in God knows what town, but he's grown to take comfort from it, associating it with Andy's touch, Andy's kiss. His lips feel weak and he's in desperate need of cool air in his lungs but he doesn't want to stop kissing Andy, can't bear to part from that contact for just a second. It's Andy who finally does break the kiss, and it's Andy who melts away the disappointed look on Neal's face when he turns his head, grazing a stubbled cheek against Neal's, and flicks his tongue along the older man's earlobe. 

"Fucking A," Neal stutters; they're the first words he's uttered since the concert and Neal feels them with every nerve ending in his body. His brain is trying to determine whether remembering to breathe is more important than wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, feeling that familiar heat and reveling in the contact as his heart rate attempts to return to normal. He buries his head in the closest expanse of Andy's flesh he can find - the tender joint connecting his neck and shoulder, one of Neal's many favorite places on Andy's body - and drags his lips and teeth along the plane lazily, groaning his gratitude as Andy manages to get them both clothed and presentable without much hassle. 

He feels slender arms snake around his waist and tuck underneath his shirt, sweeping thumbs along Neal's back; Andy's so raw and wiped that he's now thankful for the wall, he can't terribly rely on his own limbs to further keep him standing. He'd thank Neal's solid body for the same reasons but it would be redundant: he's always thankful Neal's body is right there, either hopelessly tangled with his each morning or as his secure anchor and foil across the stage every night. He hums in contentment, in reaction to Neal's own satisfaction with the night: Neal can feel that vibration low in Andy's throat, and he wishes never to be farther apart from the younger man than he is right now. 

Bringing up his mouth to Andy's ear while simultaneously bringing his hands down to palm his ass, Neal whispers the words that will ensure that prying the couple apart will happen later rather than sooner. "When I get you back to the hotel," he accents each word with a slow roll of his hips into Andy's; for all the adrenaline and energy they just expelled, Neal is always ready for more. "I'm going to fucking bury myself in you." 

He cranes his neck for a kiss and possessively claims Andy's mouth with his. Later there will be time for the gentle caresses and soft laughter that fills the air when they make love; there will be time for Andy to reveal how much these moments with the older man mean to him, as much as when they're on stage finally fulfilling their dreams, and time for Neal to mistakenly forget Andy's underwear in the hotel room in the morning. But for right now, as the younger man tries not to melt into a puddle on the floor at the mere consideration of what Neal would do to him once in the safety of a locked hotel room, Andy hopes there's a big bed awaiting their arrival. 

He, after all, made good on his temptation tonight; it's only fitting for Neal to do the same.


End file.
